


Cruel To Be Kind

by Remy_Writes5



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dark, Dark Sherlock, Dark fic, Dubious Consent, Human!John, Kidnapping, M/M, Non Consensual, Rape/Non-con Elements, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Stockholm Syndrome, Supernatural Elements, Vampire!Jim, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves, Witches, dub-con, vampire!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remy_Writes5/pseuds/Remy_Writes5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was taken when he was just a boy. Sherlock Holmes wasn't looking for him but that doesn't mean he didn't find him. Now John might be the key to bringing down Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags before starting this story.

            Jim Moriarty weaved his way through the playing children, drunk on the smell in the air. He loved children; the way they smelled, so fresh, so innocent. Their blood was always so pure, tantalizing on his tongue. It took every bit of his immeasurable self-control to stay on task. He allowed himself on deep inhale before pressing on. 

            He found the gold haired boy sitting by himself on the swing set, his feet dragging in the mud. Jim sat down on the swing next to him, matching the boy’s small movements so their swings moved together. “Why do you look so sad?” he asked the small child.

            “Stupid Harry won’t let me play with her and her friends. She says I get in the way.” The boy said, kicking the mud so a chunk of it went sailing across the grass and landed with a _plop_.

            “Older sisters can be such a bother.” Jim agreed even though he’d never actually had any sisters. But he did have Irene, who was annoying and meddlesome like an older sister. “Don’t you have any friends of your own to play with?”

            “No.” the boy looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. “We moved here a month ago. Harry’s managed to make lots of friends and I haven’t made any.”

            “Well perhaps you and I could be friends.” Jim suggested with the kindest smile he could manage. It was mostly all teeth and John took a step back. Jim made a mental note not to smile so much.

            “Mum says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” John grumbled, digging the toe of his trainer into the mud.

            “Jim Moriarty.” He held out his hand to the boy. “Hi.”

            “John Watson.” The boy replied, shaking his hand politely.

            “There, now we’re no longer strangers.”

            “Yeah, I suppose not.” John gave him a tentative smile. “So you’ll be my friend?”

            “Sounds fun.” Jim grinned at him, carefully hiding his teeth. “So what would you like to do John?”

            John tiny brow furrowed as he seriously contemplated it. “Want to see who can swing higher?” John finally asked, unsure of what else to say.

            “You’re on Johnny boy.” Jim held out his hand and John shook it with a slight nod. They both grabbed the chains of their swings and began pumping their legs. John’s face was a mask of concentration as he stuck out his tongue and tried to move his short legs.

            Jim’s longer legs made it easier to get in the lead. He watched as John worked harder, gritting his teeth in determination. He couldn’t help admiring the little lad. John was definitely going to be interesting and Jim would enjoy destroying that strong resolve bit by bit. He could see how John was the one he was looking for.            

            They both swung higher to the point where they were almost parallel with the ground. John was whooping and laughing, overjoyed at having someone to play with.            

            Jim forfeited, declaring John the winner. As John tried to slow the movement of his swing, his foot got caught in the mud. He tumbled forward and rolled along the wet grass.

            Moriarty was off his swing in seconds and over to John. He grabbed his arm to help him up and his nostrils flared at the smell of blood hitting the air. His fangs descended immediately as he saw the small cut on the boy’s forehead. With great pain he pushed them back up. It wouldn’t do to frighten the boy.

            “That was brilliant!” John exclaimed, rubbing his muddy hands on his already dirty jeans. He was beaming widely up at Jim. He could hear John’s heart racing, his blood pumping through his veins at double time. It made Jim so hungry but it also intrigued him. _A thing for danger,_ Jim thought as he returned the boy’s smile. Oh there was no question that this was the right John Watson. _I’ve been waiting centuries for you._

“You know what I think we need?” Jim asked, squatting so he was on level with John but being cautious of getting his suit dirty.

            “What’s that?” John asked, his eyes shining brightly.

            “Ice cream.” Jim replied, standing up and holding out his hand. John took it without hesitation.

            “Really?” John’s bright eyes widened. If he could feel the coldness of Jim’s hand, he didn’t comment on it. “Mum never lets me have ice cream before supper.”

            “Well I think you deserve it for being so brave and winning our little competition.”

            “I don’t know.” John wiped the blood on his forehead away with his shirt sleeve. “Mum might be cross if she finds out.”

            “I’ll tell you what Johnny, it’ll be our little secret. I won’t breathe a word to a soul.” Jim put his free hand over his non-beating heart and promised.

            John chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully and then a smile broke out onto his young face. “Okay.” He nodded. “You’re a really good friend Mr. Moriarty.”

            “Please, call me Jim.”

 

                                                                        XXXX

 

            That was the last time John Watson was ever heard of. There was an exhaustive police search for the boy. After a few years, with no new information coming to light, the search was abandoned and the boy was presumed dead.

            No one carried that burden more than Harriet Watson, who spent the next fifteen years thinking if she had only kept a better eye on her little brother he might still be alive. She knew no one really blamed her, she was just a kid herself, but the guilt weighed on her. She drank herself half to death every night trying not to think about it.

            John Watson wouldn’t be found; at least not until Sherlock Holmes stumbled onto the case quite by accident.

 

                                                                        XXXX

 

            “Are you sure about this Holmes?” Lestrade asked for what felt like the fiftieth time since they’d gotten into the cab back at Baker Street.

            “Of course I’m sure.” Sherlock snapped. He was on edge, more so than usual,to the point where he felt like crawling out of his own skin. They only had one chance to get this right and this was it. If it didn’t go accordingly, months worth of planning would have been wasted. They wouldn’t get a second shot at this; their only hope was catching Moriarty off guard.

            “Unless he’s leading us all to our death.” Anderson snarled and Sherlock shot him a warning look. It wouldn’t be the first time they went at each other. He would have thought Anderson had learned not to pick fights he could not win. Perhaps he needed another lesson.

            “Whatever Moriarty has in there is important to him.” Sherlock said with certainty, pushing the tree branch aside to show the house. “Out of all his bases, this one is the most heavily guarded. Whatever it is, he wants it kept safe and most of all hidden. The best way to bring him down is to take what he covets.”

            “And you think he’s keeping it here?” Sally asked, clearly skeptical.

            “I told you.” Sherlock huffed impatiently. They were getting dangerously close to the full moon rising. “There are at least double the amount of guards here, if not more, than any of his other safe houses. Why would he add that much security unless there was something here he wanted to keep safe?”

            “Maybe he’s leading you into a trap.” Sally offered.

            “Not possible.” Sherlock dismissed immediately. "He isn't aware I know of this place. I made sure of it."

            “Alright, I can feel the moon rising. Time to stop bickering and get our shit together.” Lestrade said, beginning to undress. Sally and Anderson followed suit and Sherlock turned away in disgust. Human bodies were foul enough without seeing them twist and grow into a wolf. Besides the entire place was about to be permeated with smelly dog. Sherlock wrinkled his nose and went to keep a lookout.

            Lestrade changed first, being the oldest and most used to the change. He nudged Sherlock’s hand with his snout and Sherlock smiled down at him. He was somewhat fond of Lestrade and couldn’t have asked for a more loyal wolf at his side for this. He knew Lestrade could hold up his end, it was the rest of his pack that Sherlock worried about.

            Sally could be ferocious in a fight; he didn’t think she would be hindrance in what they were about to do. It was Anderson who was next to useless. He was the newest of the pack and Sherlock had no idea why he’d been invited to join in the first place.

            “It’s almost time, where’s Molly?” Sherlock hissed into the cold night air, looking around for the witch.

            The largest grey wolf shrugged his shoulders and Sherlock scowled at Lestrade in return. “If this all gets cocked up because you begged me to involve her in the plan, I will have you put down.” Sherlock snarled and Lestrade leaned back on his haunches, looking ready to pounce as if to say “try it and I’ll kill you.”

            The black wolf (Sally) rolled her eyes and disappeared into the trees. The dark brown wolf (Anderson) whined after her and Sherlock found their co-dependence sickening. When Sally reemerged from the trees, she was pushing Molly with her nose and another wolf came along as well.

            “Who’s this?” Sherlock snapped. There were only three wolves meant to be in their company, not four.

            “Dimmock.” Molly replied, giving the light blond wolf a pat on the head. “He heard about what was happening and came to find me at the morgue. I filled him in on the plan.”

            “Molly.” Sherlock grabbed her by the arm and she yelped in surprise. Leading her away from the pack so they wouldn’t be overheard, Sherlock let her go with a little shove. “This is a very delicate situation. We can’t be changing the plan at the last minute.”

            “I thought we could use the extra help.” Molly glowered at him.

            Sherlock snarled with his fangs at her but didn’t say anything more. “Fine Dimmock, you can join us but if you fuck this up, you’ll be my next meal.” He warned and went to take another look.

            The house was massive, with security cameras covering all the doors. Breaking in was not going to be easy but Sherlock did enjoy a challenge. Luckily he would not show up on the cameras but the others were a problem. It would be difficult to smuggle four large wolves in. That’s why Molly was there.

             “They’re about to change the guards, go on.” Sherlock urged her. She nodded and began whispering the incantation under her breath. Mist swirled and thickened around them, coating the area in a deep fog. Molly smiled triumphantly as the rest of them set out towards the side door they’d picked as their entry point. Sherlock checked to make sure he had all his supplies well hidden under his long coat. Satisfied, he gestured for the wolves to go ahead. 

            Lestrade went first, taking down the guard at the door easily. He tore out the man’s throat and for a moment Sherlock was overwhelmed by the blood, wanting a taste. He pushed his way past before he was too tempted and began running down the hallway. He had the layout of the building memorized and pulled up the map he had saved in his mind palace.

            He left the guards for the wolves, ignoring the biting and ripping going on around him. Whatever Moriarty was hiding was at the very center of the house and Sherlock was determined to get to it. He raced on ahead, trusting Lestrade and his pack to cover him.

 

                                                            XXXX

 

            Molly was still outside, waiting for the others to join her. She could only hope they would be successful because she really didn’t want to have to find new friends. She would especially be sad if Sherlock didn’t make it out all right.

            She knew her crush on the vampire was pointless. She’d met him through Bart’s morgue, where Sherlock got his regular supply of blood. She had once foolishly offered herself so he wouldn’t have to drink that packaged stuff anymore. He declined; not even bothering to be polite about it. She thought maybe she wasn’t the right blood type but from what she’d seen, Sherlock didn’t really seem to care about that.

            She made herself feel better by deciding that Sherlock simply didn’t drink from humans. That wasn’t so unnatural anymore. It used to be that being a personal blood donor to a vampire was quite an honor. That wasn’t really the case anymore and most vampires got their supply from blood banks.

            She knew Moriarty was one of the biggest suppliers of blood in the world. According to Sherlock, that was merely a front for all the other unsavory deals Moriarty did. There were rumors he was distributing large quantities of wolfsbane to hunters in an attempt to knock out the werewolf population.

            Beginning to get antsy, Molly did a spell to get into Lestrade’s mind. She knew out of all of them, he would object the least to her invading his mind. She whispered the incantation and closed her eyes. The first thing she saw was an ear getting bitten off. She gasped at the gruesome sight and tried to keep the contents of her stomach intact. It was true she worked at the morgue and dealt with dead bodies but she’d never witnessed a murder first hand before.

            _Damn it Molly, what have I told you about invading my head?_

**_I wanted to know what was going on._ **

_At the moment, carnage mostly._

_**Gross. Just get everyone back safe, okay?**_

**** _Will do Mols._

“Well aren’t you adorable.”

            It took Molly a moment to realize it wasn’t Greg who had said that but instead someone had snuck up on her while she had been doing her spell. When she opened her eyes, the link between her and Greg was severed. She turned around quickly and saw a woman with dark hair emerge from the shadows. She was covered in a large fur coat that Molly had a sneaking suspicion was wolf fur.

            “Is this your spell?” she waved away some of the fog and it lessened as Molly seized up in fear.

            “Yes.” She said in a small voice.

            “Impressive.” The woman’s smile was blood red. “So you’re with the pack of mutts currently invading my home, is that it?”

            “Oh.” Molly looked over to where the others had gone in and began to worry. “This is your home, I didn’t know.”

            The woman smiled wider and took a few steps closer. Molly instantly took a few steps back but was blocked by a tree. She pressed her small body as far into the bark as she could to get away.

            “You really are just the cutest thing.” The woman moved so quickly that Molly would have missed it if she had blinked. Pale hands with dark red fingernails came to rest on the tree, boxing Molly in. She flashed her fangs and they glistened in the moonlight. “I could just eat you up.”

            Molly quickly said a defensive spell meant to knock someone down. The effect was minimal, only succeeding in pushing the woman back a few paces, her black high heels digging into the dirt.

            “A witch and a vampire?” Molly stared in awe. She’d never seen a cross breed before. “Who are you?”

            “Irene Adler.” The woman introduced herself. “And I’m what happens when a witch is turned. But maybe you’d like to know for yourself.”

            Her vibrant red lips parted as she lowered her mouth towards Molly’s neck. Every spell Molly had ever learned left her as she froze in terror. “No, please.” She begged with a small whimper.

            “This won’t hurt a bit.” Irene brushed Molly’s long hair off her shoulder, her nails scraping against Molly’s skin.

            Molly shut her eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable bite.

 

                                                            XXXX

 

            Sherlock was nearly there. Two more corridors and he would have control over Moriarty. After centuries of fighting the vampire, he’d never found a weakness and neither had Moriarty found his. But now it seemed Moriarty finally had something to keep safe, something he wanted to protect. Whatever it was had been brought in front Germany three days ago. The train it had been transported on had been so heavily guarded with Jim's men that Sherlock didn't have a hope of trying to take it then. It wasn't another shipment of wolfsbane because Moriarty that was coming in tonight and Moriarty was seeing to it right at that moment. No, this was something else and much more valuable to the vampire. He never had so many men go on a run before. 

            This was the key to unraveling Moriarty’s network. It might even be the key to unraveling the man himself. Sherlock had tried again and again to kill the vampire but hadn’t been successful yet. It was only a matter of time.

            There were four guards in front of the door that Sherlock needed to open. He grinned, feeling the urge to take some blood. The guards were large and definitely vampiric but Sherlock did love a challenge. Besides, it was no fun leaving all the killing to the wolves.

            The first two broke off and away from the door, charging at Sherlock. Sherlock waited for the opportune moment and fell to his knees, slipping a stake out of each coat sleeve and plunging it into the two guard’s heart. They turned to ash and the stakes clattered to the ground.

            The next one came forward but he was slow and dumb. Sherlock leapt onto the ceiling and crawled across it until he was behind the guard. He dropped onto his large back and tore into his throat. He sucked him dry quickly while the guard thrashed. When his blood was gone, the thug fell heavily to the floor. Without more blood, he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

            The last guard grabbed a hold of Sherlock by the scruff of his neck and threw him across the corridor. Sherlock slid across the floor and into a wall, making it crumble around him. Sherlock pulled the sword from his belt and swung it. The guard stumbled back, giving Sherlock enough time to get to his feet. The guard was tall with a thick neck; beheading him was not going to be easy. But he felt alive and rejuvenated after feeding. Vampire blood was much more potent than human blood but it was against vampire law to go around drinking other vampires. 

            Sherlock was about to raise the sword again for another swing when the guard cried out and fell to his knees. Lestrade had torn into the back of his knee, causing the guard to collapse. Sherlock wasted no time bringing the sword down in one swift movement and slicing off his head. The guard was so large he took longer than the others to turn to ash.

            Sherlock gave Lestrade a nod of thanks, which the wolf returned. Then, wasting no more time, Sherlock went over to the door and pushed it open. He’d had a lot of theories about what would be inside. A blond haired human that couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old was not it. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. So obviously I did not get this fic done by Halloween like I wanted but I'm going to try and finish it as quickly as possible so I can get started on/worry about my Johnlock gift exchange fic. 
> 
> I just started a blog that is exclusively about my writing (because my normal blog is a mess of fandoms) remywrites5.tumblr.com. I'll be posting updates, letting people know what I'm working on, etc. If you need to get ahold of me for whatever reason, that's your best bet. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading.

            Greg pulled Sherlock aside and into the kitchen. Sherlock hardly noticed, his gaze fixed on the man sitting in his lounge. He had barely spoken two words since they’d taken him from Moriarty’s house and they hadn’t even gotten his name. But Sherlock was intrigued, wondering why this person was so precious to Moriarty. It didn’t make sense. Sherlock had been battling Moriarty for centuries and had never seen the vampire connect with anybody. So what was it about this man that warranted all that protection?

            “Fucking hell Sherlock, do you realize who that is?” Greg asked, keeping his voice low so he wouldn’t be overheard by their guest. His body was still aching from the transformation and all he wanted was to go home and crash. But he was not about to leave a human with Sherlock, even if he had been off the live stuff for years.

            “No, should I?” Sherlock peeked around the doors separating the kitchen from the sitting room, unable to keep his eyes from drifting to the man.

            “That’s John Watson.” Greg hissed as he turned the kettle off. He poured three mugs of tea, taking his time so their guest wouldn’t be suspicious of how long they were gone.

            “Who?”            

            “John bloody Watson.” Greg repeated, wondering what it must be like to be Sherlock and be willfully ignorant about certain things. “Only one of the biggest missing persons cases London has ever had. It was all in the news when I first became a constable. A lot of coppers had grand ideas about being the one to find him.”

            “How do you know it’s him?’ Sherlock asked, clearly not about to take it on faith.

            “Because I must have read that description a hundred times. You add fifteen years onto the guy in your sitting room and it’s him. He’s the right age.”

            “We won’t know anything until he says something. As of right now, that’s not looking very likely.” Sherlock said, his face a blank mask. But Greg had been around long enough to hear the strain of frustration in his voice.

            “Well what do you expect Sherlock?” Greg crossed his arms over his chest and his eyes tracked Sherlock’s movement as he paced the kitchen. “You took him without saying a word and then you dumped him here. Why should he want to tell you anything?”            

            “Do you have a problem with the way I’ve conducted myself, Detective Inspector?” Sherlock stopped and glared at him.

            “You’re damn right I do.” Greg stepped closer, the threat evident by his stance. He might not have been able to achieve his wolf form but Greg was still strong enough to take on Holmes. “You didn’t tell me it was a person we were after.”

            “That’s because I didn’t know.”

            “It’s not the first time you’ve withheld information from me.”

            “I didn’t know.” Sherlock repeated and the conviction in the voice was overwhelming. Greg conceded that Sherlock didn’t know and even if he did, there was no way he could have known it would be John Watson.

            Lestrade still remembered that case. It was considered a huge failure for the Met that they hadn’t been able to find the boy. Every time a kidnapping happened in London, you could bet your arse that the papers would mention the John Watson case. There was a bench in the park where Watson had been taken that had been named in his honour. All this time he had been in the clutches of Moriarty. Greg didn’t even want to imagine what a horror that had been.

            “Look, you know I’m against him staying here.” Greg started, hoping he might be able to get through to Sherlock for once. He didn’t have very high hopes though. “Maybe we should have him stay somewhere else. Like perhaps with someone human. We should contact his family, they’ll want to know he’s alive.”

            “Not yet.” Sherlock shook his head, going over to the fridge. He grabbed a bag of blood and drank some quickly, his body seeming to relax as he did so. “If he goes home, we’ll have to wait through the tearful reunion and we don’t have time for that. As soon as Moriarty knows he’s missing, he’s going to come looking for him.”

            “All the more reason he shouldn’t stay here. He’s going to know right away you’re behind this.”

            “He can’t get in without an invitation and besides Molly put some spells on the house. Any vampire that comes onto Baker Street instantly forgets where they were going. He won’t find us.”

            “I still don’t think you should be the one to look after him.”

            “I’m perfectly in control.” Sherlock snarled and drank more blood.

            “Yes, clearly.” Greg rolled his eyes and went back to making tea. “It’s not just the fact that you’re a vampire and he’s a human. He’s been locked up for the past fifteen years, he’s going to be fragile. You’re not exactly the most sensitive sort. He could probably use a bit of comfort at this difficult time.”

            “If he requires a hug or a shoulder to cry on, I’ll call for Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock replied, waving it off as if it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

            “Laugh all you want but that kid has been through fifteen years of trauma. Who knows what’s going on in his head? Why don’t I take him to Molly’s?”

            “Molly has her own problems right now.” Sherlock responded, walking over and taking two of the mugs from Greg. “Besides, there’s no one else I trust to guard him while I get my answers.”

            “Gee thanks.” Greg said sarcastically but didn’t push it.

 

                                                            XXXX

 

            Sally gently eased Molly onto her couch and wrapped her up in a blanket. Molly was quivering from head to toe, shaking in terror. Sally cursed both Lestrade and Holmes for bringing the witch along. That had been no place for someone like Molly.

            “That woman.” Molly’s lip trembled and her eyes were still wide with shock.             “You’re safe now.” Sally assured her, uncomfortably putting an arm around the witch. Being soothing was not exactly her forte.

            “She was going to turn me. If you hadn’t gotten there when you did…”

            “Well I did. That bitch won’t touch you again.” Sally nodded with certainty.

            “Maybe you should have let her. If I were a vampire maybe I wouldn’t be so useless.” Molly bent her head and covered her face with her shaking hands.

            “Hey!” Sally’s hand curled into a fist. “You weren’t useless. The only reason we got inside was because of you. Besides, you know how it works, if that Woman had turned you, you would be beholden to her. She’d have power over you and you’d be working for Moriarty right now.”

            “I wouldn’t!” Molly sat up straight, some colour back in her cheeks and a bit of fire in her eyes. Sally smiled, happy to see it.

            “You wouldn’t have a choice.” Sally’s smile faded. “To severe that tie would be like cutting out your own heart.”

 

                                                            XXXX

 

            Sherlock had finally gotten rid of Lestrade and so it was just him and someone who might have been John Watson left in the flat. John, or whoever, hadn’t touched his tea and was merely staring down at his hands. They were cuffed together even though he had no chance of escape.

            Sherlock and John sat across from each other, neither of them saying anything. It suited Sherlock just fine; he could get information without words. The gentle calm of John’s demeanor meant that he was most likely accustomed to vampires. Most people cowered in their presence. Judging by the tan of his skin, he hadn’t been in complete isolation. If he was the John Watson who had been taken all those years ago, it was pretty brave of Moriarty to let him out where he might be recognized. Then again, the only reason Lestrade had recognized him was because he was familiar with the case. It had been fifteen years, how many people would actually be looking out for John Watson?

            “I’ve been trained to withstand torture.” The man finally spoke, looking at Sherlock through narrowed eyes.

            “Are you expecting to be tortured?” Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. It was an interesting choice of first words.

            “You won’t get information out of me any other way.” John responded defiantly, his shoulders back, putting him at full height, which wasn’t very much in the way of stature.

            “Not even your name?”

            John chewed his bottom lips, considering it. “John.”

            “So, John Watson.” John’s eyes widened when Sherlock used his full name. “Are you aware James Moriarty kidnapped you?”

            “He didn’t kidnap me, I went with him freely.”

            “Were you aware when you did so that you would never return?”

            John fell silent and turned his face away. Apparently he hadn’t. Sherlock grinned, knowing there was at least a little animosity between Moriarty and John. He could use that to his advantage to get John to turn. From the way John had his neck, Sherlock could clearly make out several bites on his neck, some older and faded and some fresh ones. Well that explained a lot.

            “Jim only wanted to look after me.”

             “Every thing Jim Moriarty does is in service of himself. Sentiment is not something he deals in.”

            “You don’t know him.” John said sharply, shaking his head.

            “I’ve known him longer than you.” Sherlock shot back.

            “And I’ve spent almost every day with him for the past fifteen years. You’re trying to paint him as some kind of monster so I’ll help you. He isn’t.”

            “He kidnapped you.”

            “And what would you call what you did? Or do you simply handcuff all your house guests?” John countered dryly, wiggling his fingers in the cuffs.

            Sherlock couldn’t help grinning at John’s moxie. When he’d taken John from Moriarty’s house, he had assumed the man would be broken and scared. Instead he was strong with a wry wit. He hadn’t been expecting that.

            “You’re so quick to put yourself in the hero role in all of this. But Jim has fed and housed and taken care of me. He’s been good to me.”

            “I’m not a hero.” Sherlock slumped back in his seat and tented his fingers under his chin. “Not even close.”

            “Then what are you?” John raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

            “Well since I’m not letting you go until you tell me what I want to know, I imagine you’ll have a lot of time to figure it out for yourself, although you might not like the answers you find.”

            “You don’t scare me, Mr. Holmes.”

            “No, I don’t, do I?” Sherlock studied his hostage closely and saw no flicker of fear in his eyes. “You’re acclimatized not only to vampires but to danger as well.”

            “Jim taught me to handle myself.” John narrowed his eyes menacingly.

            “I’m not a common vampire.”

            “Neither is Jim.” They glared at each other, stuck in a strangely intense staring contest. Neither blinked nor looked away, stubbornness ruling as both refused to back down. “And he will find me.”

           

                                                                        XXXX

 

            Jim Moriarty let out a feral scream and tore into the throat of one of his higher ranking flunkies. Blood oozed down Moriarty’s chin as he pushed the weakened vampire onto the floor. A different guard brought Jim a handkerchief so he could wipe his mouth before blood got onto his expensive suit.

            “Oh Sebastian.” Jim called out for his second in command. “Do you mind explaining to me exactly how Sherlock Holmes and three mangy mutts managed to break in and steal my Johnny?”

            Sebastian stepped forward, slowly inhaling from his cigarette before answering. “They had a witch with them and it was four wolves, not three.”

            “Sebby, baby, you’re not listening. I don’t give a fuck about how many of those dogs there were. This place was crawling with your men, men you promised me could handle watching John and yet what have I to show for it?” Jim hissed through his teeth, his eyes dangerous looking.

            “I thought they could.” Seb shrugged.

            “Well they couldn’t.” Jim walked forward and snatched the cigarette away, tearing it to pieces with his hands and then stomping on them like a five year old. “And where were you when all this happened?”

            “I was with you picking up the goods from China.” Sebastian simply lit another cigarette, ignoring his boss’s childish behaviour.

            “Oh right.” Jim seemed to calm down for a moment, smoothing down his dark hair. “And what about you?”

            Jim turned to stare accusingly at Irene. “Don’t look at me.” Irene put her hands up in surrender. “I almost got torn apart by one of those wolves.” Irene rolled her neck and stretched. “And all for trying to get a little snack.” She pouted, her ruby red lips pursed together unhappily.

            “Fine.” Jim turned away in disgust, his hands clenched into fists. “Now my poor John is stuck with that menace Sherlock and his icky wolfy friends. When he comes back he’s going to smell like dog.” Jim grimaced.

            “We’ll find him.” Seb assured him, wanting to spare any of his men the same fate Hopkins had just received.

            “Luckily, this can be used to our advantage and John can handle himself until we find him.”

            “I’ll have everyone out looking straight away.”

            “Good. The sooner we get John back to better. Then our little family will be complete again.” Jim clapped his hands together and shooed everyone away. He stopped by John’s room, hating how empty it looked. He’d have to teach Sherlock a little lesson about taking things that didn’t belong to him. It wasn’t nice to touch other people’s things.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Rape/Non-Con/Dub-Con stuff in this chapter. Do not read if you are easily triggered.

            “Here.” John held out his wrist in front of Sherlock’s face. Sherlock blinked at the offered flesh for a few moments and then looked up at his prisoner.

            “What is this?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. John had a stern expression fixed on his face, his shoulders back and his stance tense.

            “If you’re going to drink from me, I’d rather you did it now. This waiting is intolerable.” John spat out angrily.

            Sherlock licked his lips slowly and peered at the prominent blue vein in John’s wrist. He had to admit it was tempting. “Why are you offering me this?”

            “Even as well as I’ve been trained, I know I can’t hold you off forever and I have no hope of escape after the spells your witch put on this place. It is inevitable that you will drink from me eventually and I’d rather get it over with now.”

            Sherlock grabbed a hold of John’s wrist so quickly that John didn’t even see him move. John gasped in surprise, his hardened mask cracking for a moment before he scowled at his captor. Sherlock smirked up at his hostage and then shoved his arm away.

            “Do not assume that you know me because you happen to know a vampire. We are not a collective, we are not a stereotype and we do not all require hand feedings.” Sherlock snarled and his prisoner backed away from him.

            “I’m sorry, I merely thought –“

            “- You thought wrong.” Sherlock informed him. “Now I’m trying to think. Either sit down and shut up or go to your room. You’re distracting me.”

            John stared at him incredulously for a few moments and then sat down in the red chair. He stared at his captor for a long time, wondering what kind of a vampire Sherlock Holmes was. He’d only ever heard of the vampire when Jim was complaining about him. He’d assumed his imprisonment would be excruciating and yet the vampire hardly demanded anything of him. Occasionally he’d been sent to the kitchen to make tea or fetch a packet of blood, but other than that most of his time was his own.

            Sherlock Holmes was a peculiar sort of vampire and not what John had been expecting. But then Sherlock could be trying to lure him into a false sense of security so he would let his guard down. Well that certainly wasn’t going to happen.

            “Stop thinking so loudly.” Sherlock growled from where he was sprawled out on the couch.

            John stared at him in confusion for a second before shrugging his shoulders. He went to the bookcase and found a collection of Poe’s works. He took it back to his chair and began to read, having nothing better to do while he remained in captivity.

 

                                                                        XXXX

 

John had been at Baker Street for two weeks and Sherlock hadn’t gained any knowledge at all. John was stoic, with nerves of steel, and Sherlock was getting nowhere. Any attempt to manipulate or coerce were laughed off by John; clearly Moriarty had trained him well. It was unbelievably frustrating.

            Sherlock hadn’t resorted to more painful means of getting what he wanted yet. If Lestrade found out what Sherlock had done, he would be quick to remove John from Sherlock’s grasp and Sherlock couldn’t let that happen yet. He wasn’t done trying to break the hold Moriarty had on John Watson. Their bond was thick; Moriarty had made sure of that over the past fifteen years. Sherlock couldn’t expect that to break after a mere two weeks.

            When he wasn’t trying to extract information from John, Sherlock mostly ignored him. He’d lived for centuries on his own, at least when Mycroft didn’t feel the need to inflict his presence, and now having someone living with him was unsettling. He wasn’t used to sharing a space with someone and the fact that John was a human wasn’t helping either. The entire flat smelled like blood, permeating the air with it’s tantalizing scent. Sherlock’s fangs were almost permanently descended, wanting to taste.            

            He couldn’t though. Just a drop of John’s blood would be enough to make him relapse into drinking the live stuff. So Sherlock wouldn’t have a single nip. It was best if he stayed as far away from John as possible until he got what he needed.

            Yet the problem with a smallish flat was that two people were bound to cross paths eventually. Unless Sherlock stayed holed up in his room, he was going to run into John on occasion.            

            Their daily bumping into each other usually happened in the morning when the one bathroom the flat offered was in competition. Sherlock had his morning routine, which John was promptly playing merry hell with. As Sherlock reached for the doorknob of the loo, John opened it wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Sherlock stared for a moment and it was like he could see every vein in John’s body, pumping blood through his circulatory system, and it made Sherlock’s teeth ache to bite anywhere.

            “Sorry.” John mumbled and moved out of the way. Sherlock shook himself slightly to snap out of it and went into the bathroom. He was surprised to find the air was cold. He turned and felt the tub, which was freezing. The water dripping off the showerhead was also cold. Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion. Why was John taking cold showers?

            He opened the bathroom door and stalked after John, following his scent upstairs. He threw open John’s bedroom door and John turned in surprise, covering his genitals. Sherlock raced over and pinned John to the bed as John cursed and struggled against him. Sherlock held him down – John was barely a challenge to overtake – and pressed his nose against the hollow of John’s throat where his scent was strong.

            “That’s it, isn’t it?” Sherlock purred deep in his throat, rubbing his nose against John’s soft skin. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize before.”

            “What are you doing?” John at last looked frightened, frozen in terror as he realized he had no escape.

            Sherlock grabbed John’s hands and held them tightly against John’s chest so Sherlock could move lower. He slid down John’s body and pressed his nose to the strongest scent of John’s body, right against the thatch of dark blond pubic hair. Sherlock inhaled deeply and dragged his nose up John’s rapidly hardening penis.

            Sherlock did a thorough investigation, sniffing the entire area to prove himself right. John stiffened and struggled as Sherlock moved lower, nosing against John’s entrance. John’s breathing was labored, coming in great heaving gasps, the noise of it whooshing past Sherlock’s ears.

            Sherlock grinned triumphantly against John’s hip, his fangs fully descended and he knew John could feel them as they just barely grazed his skin. John inhaled sharply and squirmed in Sherlock’s grasp.

            “You’ve never been touched. It’s why you smell so good. Moriarty has kept you pure this entire time. You can’t even masturbate, which accounts for all the cold showers you’ve been taking. He’s never touched you, not in fifteen years. He’s fed off you, of course, it would be almost impossible not to with the way you smell. But he never touched you.”

            Sherlock moved back up John’s body, taking John’s restrained arms with him to hold them comfortably over his captive’s head. “It almost begs the question why he didn’t do it properly. If he wanted you to remain pure, why not just remove your testicles? Obviously he had plans to take advantage at some point.”

            “After I’m turned.” John said defiantly, his eyes hard with resilience.

            “Why hasn’t he already?”

            “He couldn’t have a child vampire. People might talk.”

            “People do little else.” Sherlock countered. “Jim has never been big on following societies rules so what held him back?”            

            “He’s not looking for just a night with me.” John’s eyes narrowed and he tried to escape but Sherlock simply slammed his hands back into the mattress.

            “You think he’s in love with you.”

            “I know he is.” John answered with conviction. Sherlock had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

            “Is that why you’re so loyal to a man who kidnapped a little boy? Who lured you away from a family that loved you for his own personal gain? Is that what you consider love, John Watson? Not only that but he’s brainwashed you into loving him back.”

            “Shut up.” John snarled and thrashed underneath Sherlock.

            “It isn’t love, it’s cruelty of the acutest kind. The only way he cares about you is in correlation of how you affect him, of what you can do for him. Do you think he’d still want you if you gave into this?” Sherlock pressed his leg against John’s erection and began moving. John’s lip quivered as he tried to hold back any kind of moan.

            “Stop, you can’t!” John pleaded. “Jim will never touch me again if you do.”

            “Exactly.” Sherlock’s eyes blazed with satisfaction at being right. “And isn’t that cruel?”

            “I’d rather have my master’s cruelty over your…indifference.” John shouted and continued his futile struggle to get out of Sherlock’s grasp.

            “You want me to be cruel?” Sherlock roared, staring John down while he loomed over him. “Is that what you want?”

            John opened his mouth to reply but before he could, Sherlock invaded it. Their lips crashed together and John made a surprised noise in the back of his throat. He turned his head and broke the kiss, panting against the pillow. Sherlock switched it so both of John’s hands were held down by one large hand and used his other to guide John’s face back.

            Sherlock captured his lips again, gentler this time, coaxing John’s mouth open with his tongue. John forgot himself for a moment and moaned, shifting his hips up to press against Sherlock’s leg. 

            “That’s it.” Sherlock kissed down John’s jaw and neck before circling back up to lick the shell of his ear. “Give yourself over to me.”

            “Why should I?” John breathed.

            “Because I’m going to save you, John Watson.” Sherlock promised, releasing John’s hands and kissing down John’s chest. He wrapped his hand around John’s cock and gave him one long stroke, causing John to keen and arch up off the bed. He brought his face down and licked at the head while his hand worked the rest. The heady scent of John’s musk was too much, making it impossible for Sherlock to retract his fangs.

            It didn’t matter, John was so unused to pleasure that he went off like a shot, his come streaking across Sherlock’s tongue and face. “Oh God, Oh God.” John repeated desperately, confused and ashamed after his orgasm.

            “Excellent.” Sherlock smiled and flipped John onto his stomach. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I can take my time preparing you.”

            “I don’t understand.”

            “You will.” Sherlock guided John by the backs of his knees, pushing them up towards his chest and spread to open him up. John was pliant, lying flat on the bed, his face turned and his arse presented up in the air. Sherlock ran his hands over the supple flesh and then squeezed, enjoying the small whimper that escaped John’s lips.

            Since this hadn’t been premeditated, Sherlock hadn’t the forethought to get any lubricant. Instead he buried his face between John’s arsecheeks and licked. John jerked away in surprise but Sherlock held him in place with a hand on his thigh.

            Sherlock took his time lavishing John’s hole with his tongue, making sure to open him up and make it nice and slippery to ease the way.  John made the most delicious noises, his fingers clutching the sheets, his face twisted with pleasure. In his position, only the tip of his cock could reach the bed so John moved his hips, dragging it against the sheets to get some release.

            “Suck.” Sherlock demanded and pushed two of his fingers into John mouth. John obeyed, tongue trailing over his fingers and down to the webbing between. While John’s mouth was occupied with that task, Sherlock undid his trousers and pulled himself out, spitting into his other hand and coated his prick. When his fingers felt wet enough, he pulled them out and pushed them immediate into John’s hole. It was already quite stretched but Sherlock made certain, pumping his fingers in and out of John.

            “Hmmph, Sherlock.” John groaned, burying his face in the pillow. Sherlock could feel the desperation radiating off John, probably because it matched his own.

            He pulled his fingers out, kneeling between John’s parted legs and grabbed the base of his cock. Guiding it in, he had forgotten the tightness of a virgin. John’s body clamped down on just the head that had breached and it was too much. Sherlock retracted and tried again. This time John’s body let him in more willingly and Sherlock glided in without issue.

            “Fuck.” John moaned, his breathing ragged. “It's like I’m being split in two.”

            “Relax and enjoy it.” Sherlock ordered and then began to move, thrusting his hips slowly. He started mouthing at John’s back, carefully avoiding his teeth piercing John’s skin. It was a dangerous game he was playing with John’s body. One false move and Sherlock wouldn’t be able to stop himself drinking John dry.

            John’s scent had already lessened from his orgasm. However it still smelled delicious, causing Sherlock to worry that perhaps his plan wouldn’t work after all. If Moriarty only wanted John for his pure blood, then it was logical to assume that he wouldn’t if John’s blood was tainted. Yet if John tasted as good as he smelled, it would hardly be a hindrance. Sherlock would just have to dirty John’s blood with sex until it became undesirable.

            It had been a long time since Sherlock had engaged in such a carnal activity. After living for over a thousand years, sex had become somewhat boring and repetitive. Penetration, thrust, ejaculate, repeat. It was rather tedious after having done it for so long. But somehow, buried deep inside John, listening to his prisoner curse up a storm, Sherlock was decidedly not bored.

            John began bringing his hips back to meet Sherlock’s, their bodies colliding with a loud slap of skin on skin. Sherlock gripped John’s arse and spread his cheeks even further, sinking even lower inside his captive. “Oh fuck.” Sherlock moaned aloud for the first time since they’d started. He’d been biting into his lip to keep from letting John know just how much he was enjoying himself. This wasn’t supposed to be about him, he was freeing John from Moriarty’s clutches. It had to be done, a necessary evil.

            But John felt amazing, his skin soft and his inside tight and warm. The need to bite him was extraordinary; just sink his teeth into the nape of John’s neck. It would make everything perfect and Jim would never be able to touch John again. Sherlock wouldn’t let him anywhere near John ever again. Just one bite and John would be his forever.

            Sherlock was about to bite down when John came for a second time, his hole fluttering around Sherlock’s cock. The sensation sent Sherlock over the edge and he cried out as he came. He collapsed on top of his hostage and stayed inside him, not wanting to let go just yet. The urge to bite John was still there but it had lessened into a dull ache in his teeth.

            That had been too close. If John had come a few seconds later, Sherlock would have already drank from him. Sherlock pulled out and ran down to the kitchen, ripping a packet of blood open with his teeth and chugging it, hoping it might slake his lust for John’s blood.

            When he had downed the entire packet, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and went back to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway and stared at John, who was lying on his back now looking thoroughly shagged. Sherlock grinned, feeling rather smug about it.

            “I feel weird now.” John confessed, looking up at the ceiling.

            “That’s normal after your first time.”

            “Why did you do that?” John finally looked at Sherlock but it was only to stare at him accusingly.

            “To save you. As you said yourself, Moriarty won’t touch you now.”

            “Why do you care? The only reason I’m here is so you can get information out of me.” John sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you interested in helping me?”

            “It’ll annoy Jim.” Sherlock answered glibly. “Besides, helping you means I get sex, so I’m really helping myself.”

            “There’s more to this than you’re letting on. At the end there, it felt like we were close to something but we never quite got there.”

            “I think you’re imagining things.” Sherlock scoffed and turned to go back downstairs. He wasn’t overtly surprised when he heard John’s footsteps following him. Sherlock ignored him and flopped onto the couch, pulling a blanket over himself. He chewed his bottom lip, needing to think. If John had felt that too, the pull that had been guiding Sherlock to bite him, then what did it mean? Just who was this John Watson and why had Moriarty taken him all those years ago? Jim could have stolen any child off of any playground, hell it would be easier to steal one from an orphanage where no one would care if they went missing. Why had he chosen John? All the hassle and effort that had gone into finding him must have been annoying for Jim. So why had he done it? What significance did John have?

            “You’re lying to me.” John said the moment he stepped into the sitting room. “If all you wanted was sex from me, you would have forced yourself on me the first night I was here. You’re a vampire, you could get someone to be your live in fucktoy and food if you wanted. You’ve shown no interest in me or anyone else, or at least not until you realized just exactly what I was to Jim. You didn’t even want me and yet you still had sex with me.”

            “Are you saying what just happened was a kindness on my part?” Sherlock chuckled at him. “Are you really that naïve?”

            “You didn’t want me.” John shook his head.

           Sherlock frowned. “I’ve warned you before about making assumptions.”

            “You haven’t fed off me and we both know you could have.”

            “Don’t try to figure out my motives, you’ll give yourself a headache.”

            John sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, the very spot Sherlock had been so close to biting. It gave Sherlock's hunger a second wave. He had to get away from John fast. “I don’t know what to make of you, Mr. Holmes.”

            “You probably never will.” Sherlock scowled at him before crossing the room and escaping into his bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. 


End file.
